Absit Omen
by EnchanteRhea
Summary: Mothers might be sweet on their children, but the rest of the family can go bad while you’re not looking. Furious at his death, Watari accepted Enma's offer without second thoughts. But when the curtain of ambition falls, he has to wonder:was it worth it?
1. Part One

Originally posted as a one-shot side story, **Absit Omen** is now an edited standalone, as well as a backstory to another piece of YnM fanfiction I'm writing, **Against the Wind**. However, after all the changes I've made it is no longer necessary to read one to understand the other. Both stories, however, share the prologue - I've made the decision to include it in this story as well in order to avoid confusing the reader. 

That said, you would probably be best off treating this story as an AU. The concept draws heavily on Chapter 58 of _Yami no Matsuei_, published in Hana to Yume, issue #2 2001. It is, however, vague enough to leave most things with no explanation whatsoever, and so I've taken liberties with it to create this story. The characters besides Watari you're going to meet here are only partly original - they are based on the nameless people featured in Watari's flashbacks in the manga.

I think it's quite needless to repeat that this isn't canon. It's my take on Watari, and this is the story I came up with while developing the plot for **Against the Wind**. Add the usual to the disclaimer: _Yami no Matsuei_ is not mine; if it were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

* * *

- 

**Absit Omen  
**Chapter One  
_by Rhea Logan_

-

I was born. I lived. I died. It was that simple.

Ambition must have been my middle name; inherent or not, it was always there. And so, in the flash that is your life you're supposed to see upon your death I saw not what I had done, but what I hadn't.

Frustration was alien to me, back then. I had the curiosity of a child and the patience of a saint, at least where work was concerned. That was what drove me straight to the fire with no fear of getting burned.

I always knew that when it was my time to go, it would be spectacular. And so, when I _did_ get burned, it had to be all the way down to ash.

At the age of twenty-four, my sentiments on dying were nothing short of fury. I wasn't ready to let go and, if I had anything to say about it, it wouldn't end like that. By the time I had exchanged the first greetings with Enma DaiOh, I had a perfect plan. I would use this time, how much of it he was willing to grant me, to do all I would have done, had that lab not exploded and taken me with it.

The offer was superb; astounding, even. Unlimited equipment, life as long as I fancied, in exchange for committing myself to a project that, even in its early stages, had already tickled my sense of feat.

It was that simple.

Soon enough, I was caught up in what had to be the work of my life – afterlife – whichever. The project was enormous, with me as its head; in both the figurative and the literal sense. The sheer amount of power that came with it was overwhelming. Not the administrative power, either; when I first merged with Mother, and I saw myself do the things I could have only dreamed of doing while I lived, I became a whole league of my own. Far ahead of everything I'd ever thought was possible.

My body and my mind – a shrine in its own right to the scientific glory of success.

The inherently restraining calls upon the ethics of the Project were a calculated risk. While my mind had powered Mother, and I had used that vast capacity myself to experiment at will, those who dared raise questions outside of the spectrum of interest vanished, never to return. To me, it didn't matter. For all I knew, they had moved on to work elsewhere and it never crossed my mind that you could be more dead than you already were.

It's ironic that even after death – or especially then – it is invariably an intrinsic human trait to be blind, once the right buttons are pushed. And I still saw myself as human, if one of a somewhat altered sort.

In the end, there were three of us left; the masterminds behind the Mother. Hinote Katai - a quick, brilliant mind and my second-in-command in one highly experienced and dedicated person. Tategami Yukiko, or my partner in crime as called her in jest, whose knowledge and connection to Mother took the Project to a level I would not have achieved on my own. Finally, myself; Watari Yutaka, the Chief Researcher of The Five Generals.

As the Project progressed, we had grown close enough to almost read each other's minds. We played deep, Yukiko and I, each time going a step further as we synchronized with the system that was no longer merely something we worked on. It was life at its best. It defined us, until I could tell no difference between being in and out, except that being out left me regretful of the wasted time.

When the request of the ultimate synch came in, there was no doubt it had to be where we had been heading all along. To me, it was nothing short of the final step – I was about to go where no human had gone before me. She had hesitated; I hadn't. It would be like always; only deeper, stronger, more profound and so much more rewarding. We would reach our final goal, I told her, our lives would be complete. It was brilliant. It was _that_ simple.

Or so it seemed, until the raw sensation of my body burning in places I didn't know existed woke me up from slumber. At least _I _had returned, they told me; Tategami had no such luck. The ambition that drove us had me end up exploited to the fullest; now bound in the lab that used to be my own, once - for reasons I hadn't understood until a lot later, when the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. That was a lesson I learned the hard way: Mothers might be sweet on their children, but the rest of the family can go bad while you're not looking.

That day was marked with a realization that dawned upon me like a bucket of cold water. I should have seen this coming.

It was _never_ that simple.

_--_

**1982**

"_Look at that. He's back."_

"_Impossible."_

_Whispery voices filled his mind. Heavy shoes clicked against the hard floor, no doubt approaching, though the sounds were muffled, as if coming from behind a thick veil of glass. _

"_He is. Pay up." _

_Harsh, slightly choked laughter. _Where have I heard this before?

"_No surprise there." Another voice, older, equally familiar. "Mother said he's out there somewhere." _

_A snort. "Took him long enough." _

_Mother. Mother... the Project. The Five Generals. They were supposed to-- _

"_Take that thing out." _

_A pull, and then another. A faint sensation on the edge of perception – at first merely tingling, then burning that rose and grew as it reached his consciousness and settled in. A wave of sickly heat wrapped him 'round and 'round; involuntary contractions stirred his muscles into a trembling rhythm. _

"_All of it? Are you sure? He's going to--"_

"_Do it." _

_More pulling, and a sequence of vicious snapping sounds crushed his still dull senses. From one second to another his mind couldn't help but acknowledge the presence of pain, cold shivers running across the burning flesh, the rapid shifts of perception and ever-increasing impulses assaulting him from all directions. _

"_You're not going to make it easy on him, are you?"_

_Another snort. "He can take it."_

_Metal instruments clicked somewhere to his left. A cacophony of beeping sounds tore into his mind. He tried to swallow to tame the nausea but found that he couldn't; responding instinctively, his body shuddered in violent convulsions. Someone caught him; cold, brutal hands. He fell forward, boneless, gasping for breath. He tried to open his eyes, but his body followed rules of its own, disobeying him completely._

"_Put him down somewhere. I'm going to need this terminal."_

_The same hands pulled him up. "Hook him up to the morphine IV?" _

"_No. I want to monitor his progress."_

_The arms holding him stiffened. "That's--"_

"_Do it." The answering voice was a cool command. _

_His body arched on its own as he felt hard, cold surface beneath him. He couldn't keep from shaking; the ever-growing searing pain clouded his mind. Soon the sounds around him muffled once more as he gave in, wishing only to succumb to darkness, but something kept him on the verge of consciousness. The walls of the black void that promised relief wouldn't give. _

"_Once he's out of the haze, he's going to kill you for this."_

_A low chuckle reached him from afar. "Highly doubt it. He won't remember much."_

_-_

The world Watari returned to was a blur of pain, altering waves of searing fire and piercing cold, and a harsh smell of antiseptics. No matter how much he wanted to let himself go and drift away, at most times sleep was just out of his reach. That welcome escape from the sheer torture of breathing was not his to have. So he would lay still for hours, for days, not so much as opening his eyes, not even when the medical staff came to tend to him.

Days shifted into nights, then into days again, but he couldn't tell the time. He couldn't care less. The lab had no windows; located deep underground, in the lowest levels of the JuuOhCho, it lived at its own pace all unlike the rhythm of the rest of the netherworld.

The first sensation he could recall was a faint flicker of light just behind his heavy eyelids, and a distant sound, just barely brushing at the edge of his consciousness. Heavily sedated and blissfully numb, he now barely remembered the first minutes back in the waking world. Next had come pain; a burning that spread across and through him, inside and out, deep down to the core.

Had someone told him, back then, that he would miss the fire that had burned him alive, Watari would have laughed.

Yet'cold'must have been the first word he uttered, barely audible as it passed through his chapped lips, straining past the long-unused vocal chords that barely complied as he tried to speak. For days and days he tried, in vain, to keep his body from shaking. In the moments of full consciousness, rare as they were at the time, he had begun to work his way through the fog that veiled his mind and find the answers to every 'how' and 'why'.

It had been a puzzle that remained unsolved until a few weeks had passed and Hinote, his second-in-command last time he checked, finally decided to pay his chief a visit. For the first time, that day, he offered something vaguely resembling an explanation. He said something about changes, modifications, and Watari having to 'get used to it'. Something about 'no other choice' and how it was now 'too late'. For what, he wondered, but then he would slip back into the semi-conscious state and nothing outside of his private chilly world mattered.

People had come and gone. Strangers, most of them. They never said much of anything, and those who did, were vague enough to have given him nothing he hadn't already known. What they did not say, Watari slowly pieced together on his own. As the days rolled past and his awareness and focus served him better again, the unease that had been always there had begun to grow all over again. As did his fear and, with it, the burning, scorching rage.

At least that kept him warm, he told himself. Warmer, anyway. So he held to it, and he held tight. Inscrutable and oblivious to virtually everything on the outside, Watari harbored that fire and carefully tended to it, night by night, day by day. With each new information read between the lines. With every scrap of sentences overheard when the assistants thought he was asleep. With every night – or maybe day, he still couldn't tell – when he lay awake, shivering with cold, trying hard to pay it no heed. Trying to push past it, to bury what was left of himself within.

His memories from these months when he had been trapped inside Mother were eerily strange. On some subconscious level he knew he must have been partly aware of his surroundings at all times. The mainframe had used him as a living, breathing set of sensors through which it had gathered information, among other things. Yet he had no recollection of anything, save an acute certainty that those memories had to be there somewhere, locked away, stored in some dark place in his mind where he couldn't reach. Yet, anyway.

Only his mind was no longer just his own, nor was it anything like before. He had been told it would never be the same again. _He _would never be the same.

For them, it had been just words. On his part, Watari often found himself wondering if they knew how that felt.

He knew what was expected of him. He was supposed to understand that in the name of science, of the Project he had willingly committed himself to, no sacrifice was too great. He was supposed to accept that he had signed his life away and so nothing that had been done to him was against the rules. He was supposed to agree that they had the right to decide for him, to use him as they had. And so he liked to blame them. He scorned them for it all often in his bitter thoughts. But somehow, each time that angry, sour 'you' before the accusation had turned into 'I'.

It would have been a lie to say his body had accepted the challenge with ease. On the contrary, it had taken long before he'd stopped involuntarily rejecting the necessary adjustments made to accommodate the changes. Implanting Mother's terminal inside him had been rough. After many mis-starts and even more mid-testing failures that caused the tiny intricate elements to melt and die inside him, a system had been developed that turned his natural body heat down enough to accommodate them without the risk of overheating.

Except that the last time he was in charge, it was under his control, and intact only when he worked in the core. It was never supposed to have been hard-coded. That terminal was never supposed to have become an integral part of him. He was never supposed to have become dependent on it.

Never.

-

_**absit omen** (Latin) - 'may there be no evil omen' _


	2. Part Two

**

* * *

**

**Absit Omen**  
Chapter Two  
_by Rhea Logan_

* * *

- 

As the time went by, Watari assumed he had been cut off. Lack of information and the fact that hardly anybody ever stayed around him longer than absolutely necessary had made that more than clear. He wondered, not without a bitter aftertaste, why Enma had not yet disposed of him altogether; even though his living after the completion of the Project had been guaranteed. But as the days rolled past, there was only one conclusion that left him with a much better sense of understanding, for a change. He realized that the Project was still as far from completed as it could have been.

There had been only one who came, at times he assumed had to be after hours. Kasaya Akane, one of his former assistants; the good soul she was, she had often sneaked in after everyone else had left, and seated herself in a chair next to him. She would stay there, silent, for a longer while. Always the same – her presence unobtrusive, gentle, hardly there. Watari had not bothered to open his eyes. She must have thought he slept whenever she came, and so each time she kept herself quiet, so as not to wake him. He probably couldn't have told she was there at all, if not for an occasional deep sigh she allowed herself to breathe.

The girl must have been the only one who had never seemed as cold about what they were engaged in as was everybody else. He had always liked that in her; the passion, the fine balance between emotion and reason, between logic and intuition. He had once thought that if there was anyone who had what it took to succeed him, should it come to that, she would be his choice.

Not that they'd let her, he knew. Still, it was a nice thought.

Eventually, he could tell the time by the frequency of her visits. Many times, tired of being alone, he tried to force himself to open his eyes, to let her know he was awake, perhaps to talk to her. But each time he failed; for the first time since he remembered, he found that he had nothing to say. Nothing save the dreaded small talk you got going before the incongruity of the situation got out of control.

He remembered waking up, just once, to someone holding his hand. He couldn't keep from twitching, but the stream of soft whispers he realized must have been going on for a while had not broken off.

"...had to. I mean... I'm sure you'd understand. I wish they'd informed me. So much went wrong. I'm so ashamed of myself. I've always thought of all those things I'd give up to trade places with you. Many of us did – not that it makes me feel better, really, but still. And now... I'm not sure I can do this anymore." She sniffled. A feather-soft touch of a finger smoothed the cool skin of his hand. "So silly of me to say that, I know. Of course I can. And I will. I'm just hoping you'll come back to us soon. Then it will be like before, right? Chief?"

Watari sighed inwardly, a bitter response catching in his throat. Akane had been dead longer than him; by almost ten years, if he remembered right. It made them almost the same age. Yet for all the genius of her mind, she still possessed a fair share of what Watari had lost. The naivety of the otherwise brilliant youth she had been when she died.

Or maybe, he had mused, that was just what made her human. Hope, however foolish. Wishing. Denial. Blindness, even. She had it all. No, he wanted to tell her. It would never be like before. A part of him wanted to rise, look straight into those naïve brown eyes and cut her innocence with the blade of truth. It would not be alright. Not everything is fair. Not everything ends well.

..._we have gone too far, myself the farthest of us all. Pushed or not. Tricked or not. No excuse. No going back. No nothing, really. I'm sorry. So very sorry, Akane, I really am. I can't come back. To anything. Not to my old self. Not to my old work. Not to my friends, who turned out never to have been friends at all. There's still that good part of me that hasn't gone sour yet and it wishes I could do that. But, no. No. _

_I can't._

_I hate them. On some level, I hate even you, the least guilty of us all. I'm beginning to hate myself, too. But it doesn't matter, does it? We will prevail. I will prevail. _

_Run, while you can. I'm not done here. It's not over yet. _

Soon Akane fell silent; she left not long after. Watari had to wonder whether she had been discouraged or relieved by his lack of response. He knew she would not have liked what he'd wished to say. And for once, he had spared her. Then second thoughts came, and he wondered if perhaps she had somehow picked up on his thoughts, and fled.

-

They had left him to his own devices altogether, but Watari knew he was being watched. He knew them all too well, but so did they know him. It had been expected of him to turn down their help. He did not disappoint. Slowly, day after day, he had pulled himself together on his own.

Headaches were the worst. There were days when they tore him apart, threatened to crack his skull in half. He managed to overcome the lack of coordination over time. The perpetual cold he slowly learned to ignore. They had brought his clothes from that apartment Watari knew he would never go back to again. Wearing layers helped. Only his hands were always so cold that his fingers refused to be nearly as quick as they had been once. But he would keep frustration well hidden. He wouldn't let them have it. Like with all else, one day he would get past that, too.

One morning he found a pair of thin, black gloves on top of his pile of clothes beside the bed. Akane's smile seemed somewhat warmer that day, too.

At some point, he started to entertain himself with guesses when they would come to him. From the scraps of information overheard from the assistants, he had gathered that his position had not been handed over to anybody else. Officially, anyway. It was now only a matter of time before he would be approached about his upcoming return. He knew well there was no one capable of immediately taking over after him, and it seemed unlikely they had found someone during those three months. It had taken _him_ longer than that to fully jump into the job, five years prior. Compared to the Project's stage last time he had checked, the state of it when he had joined was a childish joke.

He miscalculated only by two days. First thing in the morning, by his estimation five weeks and a day after he'd returned, Hinote came in for what he had called a 'checkup' and what, Watari knew, was the big talk he must have been assigned to do.

Hinote acted proper and polite ad nauseum. That fake half-smile on his face felt almost offensive. Watari guessed it must have been him who had overseen the part of the Project he had not been let in on. So much for trust inside the team they were supposed to have been. So much for the deal. So much for sincerity. All those words had somehow lost their meaning to him in the past few weeks.

He put up his oblivious front, as he had each time someone came to check up on him. He knew that his reaction to those people, who no doubt were supposed to still be his co-workers, had to be part of what interested them. Watari endured the endless tests with stoic calm and responses as minimal as he could spare.

He had decided it would be no different, this time.

"Looking good. You should be up and about sooner than I thought."

Watari kept his eyes closed as he inclined his head in a silent agreement. Calm and steady, his only movement was slow, measured intake of air. Inside, though, he couldn't help but feel some impious sort of excitement. Hinote's pose of politeness and his cool exterior would soon burn to ash.

"You are expected back at work by the end of next week."

Watari's inner voice laughed. His face betrayed nothing. "No."

Fabric whispered around him. He could almost feel the man's eyes grow large as they pierced through him, but he would not be hurt by this. He would not be affected. Not anymore.

"Do you reckon you need more time?"

Watari shook his head. His voice was soft, face expressionless. "No."

Hinote took another step, leaning over him, closer still. "What is the meaning of this?"

He wondered briefly what infuriated his second-in-command more; his monosyllabic answers, or the illusion of perfect calm he was being served with. Still not looking up, he offered a smooth explanation he had been waiting to deliver for weeks.

"I'm not coming back."

"I beg your pardon?"

Golden eyes snapped open, meeting a pair of gray ones, clearly shock-stricken. Watari regarded the middle-aged looking man with a long, cold stare.

"I think I haven't made myself clear enough," he said in a slow, deliberate voice, "so allow me to reiterate. You suck. I quit."

Large hands grabbed him by his robe, lifting him slightly from the bed, but Watari's eyes never left the other's face. Challenge burned with amber fire; a clear-cut message that his was the decision to be reckoned with. Inside his head, Watari was laughing like he hadn't laughed for years. He found it almost too hard to contain. Outside, he studied that rising fury in the older man, felt his hands tremble as Hinote held him, saw the reflection of failure flash in his gray eyes and savored that moment, the one he had been waiting for.

"Let him go."

Released at once, Watari fell back against the bed. Figures. He thought briefly that he should have known _that_ visit had also been in order. Yet he had to give credit where it was due – the timing took him unawares.

Hinote took a sharp turn and bent himself in half in an excessively respectful bow. "Enma DaiOh-sama," he said, voice betraying emotion. "I beg forgiveness. This--"

"Silence." Enma's silky voice held a note of contempt. He walked past the man, shoving him aside, and stood by the edge of Watari's bed.

"It is not always that the golden cage is best for the golden bird, or so the tale says. It could bring misfortune and hindrance to the prince's plans."

A slender hand came up, wide sleeve of the god's black robe whispered behind his ear as Enma carded his long, cold fingers through Watari's hair. Holding his breath, he treated himself to a harsh reprimand for letting his mind liken that chilly touch to what his own felt like these days. That offending hand sneaking slowly towards the back of his neck in a mockery of caress made his skin crawl.

"Surely you have no wish to add a chapter of woe to the tale of our own? KinU."

Regarded with a smile that never reached Enma's jet-black eyes, Watari suppressed a shiver. _Aiming straight for the core? You sure do have a knack for that._

"Like in the tales of old, all things must draw to an end, somewhere down the road. I wish for a happy end, as do you, I'm sure. For now, let the cage be that of your choice."

"You can't let him go just like that! The Project--"

Hinote's cascade of discourteous words broke off the instant Enma turned his head, the movement so swift Watari had to wonder why it couldn't have snapped his neck. Disappointing, that. A part of him grinned inwardly at that idea, but Enma's hand brushing against the back of his head brought him back down to earth. Shifting his position ever so slightly, no doubt to give Watari a better view of the mortified man, Enma narrowed his eyes.

"Surely you have not just denied me the right to do as I please?"

Hinote came down in a bow. "Enma DaiOh-sama, I beg forgiveness," he whispered.

The god waved him off with a small, dismissive movement of one pale, slender hand, the other one still tangled in Watari's hair. He pulled at the golden strands ever so lightly, as though by accident. Yet to him the message was crystal clear; Enma's words had been meant for them both, and the pull at his hair lent them an extra edge.

"Dispense with the charade, Hinote. Your opinion means nothing to me. Thus, unless you wish for me to take your little display of disobedience at face value, you will finish your tasks and spare us needless commentary."

Not daring to so much as look up at the god or move, Hinote bent himself even lower. Watari entertained a mental image of the man falling flat at Enma's feet if something snapped in his back, but it was too much to hope for. He harbored a loathing for them both. For Enma all the more; the god held the strings in his hand and pulled at them at will.

Enma turned his attention back to him and Watari made sure he looked as inscrutable and unmoved as he only could.

"Your request for transfer has been granted. You are free to relocate to the office of your choice at any given time. Your work here is done. For now." Enma leaned in, hovering above Watari's tense form spread on the bed. "But never forget," he added in a whisper so soft that he could have been the only one to hear, "You belong to me."

Watari fought nausea as the black eyes flickered ominously just inches away from his own. He had not let his breath out until Enma turned to leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, Hinote straightened himself and stormed across the room towards Watari's bed.

"You did not just do that," he breathed, rage seeping through every single deliberately uttered word. Flushed with anger, the man's face presented a perfect picture of the bitter dread that must have swarmed his thoughts.

Watari raised an eyebrow. "I believe I did."

Hinote cast a brief glance over his shoulder towards the door, no doubt half expecting Enma to return, should he lay a hand on his now-former chief again. He kept his distance, but if looks could kill, Watari would be far more dead than he already was.

"You can't," he seethed, his breath far too heavy. "All that work! You've already hindered the Project as it is. You can't just walk out on--"

"Why does it bother you so much?" Watari cut him off and frowned, cocking his head. "Don't tell me you're not drooling at the thought of taking over once I'm gone. It should be convenient to you."

"Don't play stupid, Watari, it doesn't suit you." Hinote snapped between deep breaths he drew to regain his control. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned slightly forward. "You're well aware none of us, at this point, can play substitute. You're wasting five years--"

"Of my own work," Watari finished calmly. He threw away the blanket he'd lain under and got up from the bed. "It's not my problem anymore. I'm done." _Almost_, his inner voice added.

Hinote's narrowed eyes fixed him with a glare. "You're going to regret this."

"Perhaps." Watari's lips twitched in a little smirk. "Then you won't be alone."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?"

Watari walked past him, ignoring Hinote's suddenly stricken expression and the tone of his voice, bordering on panic. _Bingo, _he thought to himself, _you have something to fear. _

"Oh, nothing," he said lightly as he headed for the door. _Make it me. And let's find out why._

_- _

_

* * *

**KinU** (Jap.) - the kanji can be translated as 'golden bird'. Enma uses that name in reference to Watari in _Yami no Matsuei _chapter 57. _


	3. Part Three

**

* * *

**

**Absit Omen**  
Chapter Three  
_by Rhea Logan_

* * *

- 

Voices hushed as Watari made his way through the enormous computer lab. Heads turned. Some of them nodded brief greetings, others only stared. Watari kept his face unreadable, nodding back, never slowing down his pace as he crossed the spacious room towards the office he'd once occupied.

Three months. Ninety seven days, to be more exact, during which they had grown to know him inside and out, far better than he could ever get to know _them_. New faces, new voices. He could almost hear that strange undertone, just barely there, as they spoke his name. He had yet to decide whether their sentiments towards him were anything like his own towards them. Neutral and nondescript when he was around – no doubt an order straight from above – their words betrayed nothing.

But their eyes said it all.

Their looks threatened to burn him. Curious eyes studied him when they thought he wasn't looking. In a mix of disgust and awe they watched him, as they had for months. Only now he watched them back, and the second their eyes met his, some turned; some fled.

He found some morbid kind of pleasure in blatantly staring back at the haughty ones. He didn't have to guess what that look did to them; it was enough to know what it once did to him as he met his own reflection in the mirror. It no longer scared him; disgust would be more like it, but by now he easily swallowed down on the initial urges to dwell on self-pity. He was who he was, even if it was no longer the self he felt most comfortable with.

Bouncing back and forth at the edges of his conscious mind, those thoughts that had once filled him with self-loathing and disgust now fueled up the fire that spurred him onward. It gave him strength; another purpose, now that he had left his old goals behind for others to deal with as they saw fit. For the time being, Watari found himself another goal.

He had put in for transfer with no particular destination in mind. The official response came back positive, under the condition that he remained within one of the offices of the EnmaCho. He had decided it was no hindrance to anything he had thus far planned to do. He knew Enma had only let him swap one leash in favor of another, albeit a longer one. It would have to do.

The Summons Division had looked suitable enough. They had a lab, to his best knowledge currently unoccupied, and a vacant spot for the Kinki area that had just been left unfilled. Watari had every right to suspect that the spot had been freed just for him, but he had long since put his foot down on any remorse in regards to that. Wherever he went, he still held more than enough of Enma's interest to ensure something would have to give to accommodate him and there was nothing he could do.

The blatant front of ignorance he had put up guaranteed a clear passage through the lab. Nobody stopped him as he entered the office that no longer belonged to him. He had requested that his personal work be returned to him, and had met no objections, much to his relief. He had yet to gather all that would leave along with him before that chapter of his afterlife was over.

He tried not to wonder whether it was over indeed, or to what extent. For the time being, it was nothing short of needless distraction. He needed no such things.

-

The muffled sounds of the commotion seeping from the main area of the laboratory he had once enjoyed were no longer just a welcome background noise. Now they carried connotations he resented; they swept in bitter waves around the corners of his mind. He knew he should have been oblivious to the new, unfamiliar voices ringing among the well-known tones of the people whose work he'd once overseen, but he wasn't. All the more loathsome, they seemed to mock him with their quiet whispers just behind his back.

The few personal belongings he had kept around the office had already been packed. It all fit in one small box that now sat on the desk. He had been told the files stored in his personal computer had been deleted; a blatant lie, that, but he decided not to make a fuss. The printouts had been made; they sat in thick piles next to the box, all five of them. Watari could only guess what was missing without looking through it, but he suspected he would have quite some holes in his work to patch up once he installed himself in the new place.

He didn't know how much work the Shokan Division would have for him to catch up with. The brief research he had done on it the week before revealed that his soon-to-be area was the slowest, with far fewer cases to work on than the others had. That pleased him; it would likely leave him with just enough time to focus on his _other _work.

He had wondered, once, what his departure from this place would look like, when it came to that. Whether Enma and the Five Generals would even let him go. He had been hopeful, back then, ready to place a fair amount of trust in the god that had granted him another chance and those people he had worked with towards the same goal. Looking back from the perspective of the past five years, he should have seen it coming. He had dismissed second thoughts when not all had added up. When he had accidentally run into requests that had not gone past his desk. When there had been arguments over the Project – some of them resulting in damage to more than the morals and pride – and the next day a new face came to replace whoever had dared to question the ethics of their work.

Watari had questioned it himself, time and again, yet never aloud and never for long. He had always believed that once you lost faith in the rightness of your work, you could no longer do it and that, back then, had not been high on the list of his options. He had let his world shrink and narrow down to Mother and Mother alone – to the point where he had turned a blind eye to everything that had felt wrong.

Hinote had told him he should have been glad. No one before him had ever pulled it off. Hinote himself, and a few others, had attempted to synchronize; to prove that the union of man and machine crossed the milestone past which the only limit to power was a financial one. But their failures had been numerous as they had been painful, for them and the Project itself. Watari had done it, yes; if only he had known what it really was they had been testing for. If only he had known what it would do to him. Somehow the weeks of painful recovery and the side effects he knew would drag behind him all along the paths of his afterlife had made the idea of happiness and accomplishment go right down the drain.

On some level he knew he wasn't supposed to have returned. Whether it was some dormant strength buried deep within him that had pulled him out, or the system itself that had finally rejected him, he couldn't tell. Now that he had quit, no one spoke to him. One day he would find out; for now, he could only guess. Yet the comments, the looks, the almost tangible smell of failure that lingered in the air told him he had hindered their plans more than they'd admit.

Much as he had devoted himself to the Project and had given it all he had, the decision to leave it turned out to have been far easier than he would have thought. Watari was one to bend the rules from the day he'd learned to walk and speak. But some rules, once broken, resulted in outcomes that were far too much.

They had taken away his choice. They had denied him the right to decide; whether for fear he wouldn't have taken the plunge, or for another reason, he no longer cared. Yet he found some bitterly amusing irony in their course of action. In Enma's orders, even, and the outcome he was leaving them to deal with now.

Had they asked his consent, Watari knew he wouldn't have held back. He'd been too far gone, too lost in the chase, in his own ambition and the glory of achievement that lay bare at his feet. He would have done it, would have sold himself as he had done once; much as he resented himself for knowing that beyond doubt. He had deemed it worthy of any sacrifice. Back then, he had.

Had they just asked. But they hadn't. In front of himself he didn't have to pretend that he wasn't glad. So much had changed. Watari wondered how many heads had rolled. The Five Generals took a collective tumble down and back to square one.

Watari pushed his glasses out of the way and brushed his gloved hands across his face. A part of him burned with loathing, another with shame. A part deep within had already started to mourn the loss. Of what, he wondered. Perhaps it mourned the lost chances he would never take. Perhaps.

It was time to leave, but he could not deny his own attachment to that office, the lab, his work, even those people as he looked around for what he knew could be the last time. For all the negative connotations the whole place now carried, the pang in his heart was there and it was real.

Dismissing those thoughts with a sigh, he picked up the printouts and folders from his desk, mentally correcting himself - his mind still refused to acknowledge that it no longer belonged to him. He told himself there was a new place awaiting him now – another desk, another lab, different people to work with. A different life.

He caught the tall pile of papers haphazardly in one hand, the small box in the other. Resisting the urge to look around again, he shook his head as he turned to leave. A step away from the door he came to a halt. He bowed his head. It was really over. Simply, just like that. He could hear the voices behind the door, the same noise as always. But today, he would step past the threshold and leave nothing in his wake.

All of a sudden the door opened Watari stepped back, avoiding collision barely by a thread. A fair share of papers slipped away from his hand. The paper whispered softly as it scattered across the floor.

A gasp of surprise escaped the girl in doorway an instant before she threw herself onto the floor to help.

"Chief... I'm so sorry," Akane stuttered, picking up the sheets and putting them back into the pile. "I didn't know Chief was here and--" she broke off as she took in the sight of the items he had carried. A sudden realization watered her warm, brown eyes.

"Chief..."

He sighed. "Watari," he corrected gently, offering a smile. He hoped it would soothe her. It seemed to have done the opposite.

"So it's true," she said quietly, lowering her gaze. "You're leaving."

Watari gave a small nod. "Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just--"

"Chief... I mean, Watari-san..."

Something in the tone of Akane's voice made his heart skip a beat. He looked at her closely; her lips were trembling, as were her hands.

"Please, come back. We need you."

Watari closed his eyes for a short moment and bit down on his lower lip. "Akane," he said, rising to his feet. She took the hand he offered and stood there, in his eyes not quite sure what to do with herself. "I can't," he explained softly. "It's done, I'm being transferred to work somewhere else."

She gave her head a violent shake, her long dark hair tumbling down her arms, around her face. "It's not true. You'll be gone. _Gone_. Like the others."

Watari clenched his teeth, fingers curling around a pile of papers he held in his hands, crushing them. A wave of anger swept him down the well-known path again. Deep down, to where he had hidden both his pain and his hate; not for her, but for the others – with highlights for Enma - who didn't have the decency to deal with _such_ things in a discreet enough way. He reached out his hand and lifted up her chin, wiping a cold tear away from her cheek.

"No, Akane. Eh, silly girl," he shook his head and forced himself to smile. "Don't worry. That's... not the way I'm leaving. I'll be working in the Summons Division from now on. No lies. I'll send you a postcard." He winked at her and offered one more smile, but his words seemed all but lost on her.

"Please," she whispered. "Come back."

The tears burning behind his own eyes threatened to spill. Watari braced himself and took a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "That's impossible."

Kneeling down to pick up the rest of the scattered memoirs of the past five years of his afterlife, Watari fought to keep himself in check. It would have been so much easier with no strings attached. So much easier to leave without further regrets. Without the knowledge that someone wanted him to stay and their reasons were pure.

Back on his feet, he secured the small box under his arm, grasped the sheets and folders tight in his other hand, and gave his former assistant a smile and a nod. "Take care, Akane. It's been a pleasure working with you. Thanks for everything."

With that he left the office, perhaps faster than necessary. With each long stride he tightened his grip on the items in his hands until his fingers grew numb. He never looked back as he left the lab and the door closed, leaving that... other afterlife behind.

He hadn't made it far before that door flung open again and Watari heard loud, quick steps against the marble floor.

"Watari-san!" Akane called out to him, breathless, as she ran through the wide hall. She stopped by his side, panting, her cheeks flushed.

Watari frowned. The girl waved her hand in a wordless plea to give her a moment so she could catch her breath.

"I knew you'd leave, I just didn't know when," she finally whispered, her words urgent and quick. "But you're not done yet, are you?" she looked up at him. Her eyes burned with the same determination he'd been so fond of in her while she took on a challenge, back when they had worked together. His frown deepened; surely she couldn't have—

"You're not done. Don't ask how I know. You'll find out yourself," she said, shoving an envelope in between the piles he carried. "You'll need this. It's likely the last thing I'll ever do for you, so use it well." She looked up, blinking back unbidden tears. "Good luck, Chief," she said, quickly shaking her head before Watari could correct her again. She gave him a small smile, locking her eyes on his for a short, fleeting second. "No regrets."

Watari stood still, holding his breath. He said nothing as he watched Akane turn and start back towards the lab.

_No regrets. _


	4. Part Four

**

* * *

**

**Absit Omen**  
Chapter Four  
_by Rhea Logan_

_

* * *

_

_- _

To his mild surprise, Watari found his new apartment ready for him to move in to, his belongings already in it; packed in labeled, nondescript boxes left in neat rows in the living room. His rent had been paid, too; three months ahead. The landlord asked no questions as he handed Watari a set of keys and headed back for the exit, though not before he inclined his head in a polite bow and expressed hope that he would find the place to his liking.

Watari thanked him, carefully wiping all signs of surprise and suspicion from his countenance. He briefly pondered the idea to ask who had made the arrangements in his stead, but he suspected the landlord either didn't know, or he wouldn't tell. Whichever the case, Watari had a list of ideas of his own as to who had made sure they knew where he was to keep an eye on him.

He pushed away the thoughts of the endless possibilities several entities, Enma DaiOh among them, had to watch him even now. Curiosity killed the cat, or so went the proverb, and even though satisfaction brought it back, it worked best in its due time.

As soon as the landlord left and the door closed behind him, Watari put away the items be had brought with him on the small, low table in the middle of the room and made a careful study of the place. Furnished rather sparsely, it could suit anyone and left the choice of decorations to him to take care of at a later time, if he so chose. Not that he cared much. He did not suppose he would be spending much time there, anyway.

He spent most of the day unpacking the boxes. With no scheduled work and too much time on his hands, he found that he had to make a conscious effort to slow down, so as not to end up with nothing to do again. He didn't own much, but seeing it all could easily fit in one car brought a small smile to his lips. Some things never changed, not even after one's death. He could get up and leave at any given time, as he had done in life, and in the span of an hour move someplace else. No strings attached.

A further study of the apartment revealed that someone had made sure he didn't need to worry about food supplies. Tea and coffee in the kitchen cupboards, painkillers in the bathroom. A stock of fresh towels and bed sheets he didn't recall having before. He moved around without haste, getting used to the new surroundings and trying to flip a mental switch to remind himself that he had to work in a different mindset, now. He still had the habit of mentally scheduling the usual work he had done for five years. Now that came off the list with a frown and a shake to his head. He would be a guardian of death now – Shinigami, as some people called them – and he'd better got it through to himself, as soon as he could.

-

The late evening found Watari sitting on the Western-style couch in his new living room, wrapped in a thick blanket. He cradled a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, looking through the files he had brought. As he had thought, a lot of it was missing, but he noticed – not without a hint of satisfaction – that he still remembered most of what was gone. Recreating it would take time, but he knew he could do it once he put his mind to it.

Between a set of blueprints and old reports, he found an envelope; the one Akane had shoved in there just before he left. A sudden unease brushed at his thoughts. The strange sense of urgency, rather out of character for her, and her words came flooding back. He tore open the envelope and pulled out what he found inside.

Three diskettes and a piece of paper. A quick look at the content made his heart skip a beat, breath catching in his throat. His eyes slid shut. The hand that held the paper fell limply onto his lap. He let the air out in a long sigh and shook his head, half in shock, half in disbelief.

_Impressive coding, Chief. Did you always know you'd need it?  
That's all I managed to save. I hope it's enough. You'll find the  
rest once you're in. Make sure to grab the reports while you're  
at it, Hinote's in particular. I think you'll find them interesting.  
Good luck,  
Kasaya Akane_

_P.S. No regrets._

The rest of the message listed every access code that had been changed after he had put in for transfer. Entry and security codes, description of the new algorithm responsible for generating the 108 mainframe core passwords ahead of schedule, everything. Still shaking his head, Watari swallowed around a sudden dryness in his throat.

How did she know? He tried to remember if he had ever let it slip. He knew it must have been a slim chance, but he could not be sure – he couldn't trust himself not to have spilled in a half-conscious state, couldn't trust them not to have listened in on him around the clock, couldn't trust Mother not to have—

_It's the last thing I'll ever do for you._

The full gravity of Akane's words brought a heavy realization that dawned upon him like a bucket of cold water. She had put her life at stake, and she'd lit the fire herself. She must have known she would be found out. Sooner or later, whether he used it or not, her entry would come up in Mother's logs, and once Hinote knew... Enma...

_Good luck, Chief._

"Bloody idiot..." he whispered under his breath. Inside he was trembling. He pushed his glasses up into his hairline and squeezed his eyes shut, then rubbed at them with his fingers. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

_Use it well. _

Throwing the blanket away, Watari powered to his feet and walked to the computer on the desk across the room. It was his own machine, although completely purged. Having checked the system for keyloggers and all other spy programs he could think of, he set to download the files Akane had managed to salvage from his old hard drives. He smiled as he looked through them, although the screen kept blurring in front of his eyes.

He had not anticipated help. He had not asked for it. It was his private war, his unfinished business. He would have no one involved, had it been his choice, but he knew it no longer was. Logic and intuition. Courage. _And a total lack of self-preserving instinct. _Watari smiled sadly to his thoughts. _What the hell possessed you?_

He left the computer running, out of habit, as he pushed himself up from the chair and shoved the disks into the back pocket of his jeans. He picked up a warm pullover from the couch before he left the room and put it on top of the black turtleneck he was already wearing. Grabbing his trench coat from the coat stand he stormed out, the door shutting behind him with a loud thud.

Halfway down the dimly lit hallway, the landlord watched the new blonde hurry past him with a furrowed brow. Watari gave him an apologetic smile – automatic, feigned, but somehow warm nonetheless. Running down the stairway he let his hair loose, pulling at the strands that caught under his coat and fished in his pocket for a hair tie. Once he got the golden mass secured in a hastily made braid, he looked at his wristwatch. The hour had grown late, but that was only to his advantage. If his former co-workers hadn't changed their habits, which he highly doubted they had, past eleven most of the building would be empty.

He had not intended to carry out the plan he had clung to for the past five weeks so soon. By his careful estimation, it would have taken up to three months to retrieve the codes necessary to get in. With the access he had – both on the levels the scientists down there knew and did _not_ know about – it would still be tricky, though not impossible. Now that he had the codes – all of them committed to memory by the time he reached his destination – he could only hope they were still valid, that it was not too late.

He dreaded the thought that Akane's brave stunt could turn out to have been a waste.

It was a waste anyway, he knew. He could have done it himself.

He sighed, chiding his mind for letting him stray that way. Guilt was a distraction; succumbing to it now meant that he ran all the greater risk of error. And something told him he only had one try.

-

As Watari made his way through the long corridors in the deep underground levels of the building, he focused on repeating his plan of action step by every carefully thought-out step; more out of need to calm down his nerves than out of necessity. The risk of running into changes employed during the past four months had not seemed that great. Much as he knew the Five Generals collectively and each on their own would have liked to rely on a system that would keep him out, he was also sure they had enough common sense to realize there _was_ no better security system than the one Watari himself had devised. While a system that could not be breached had yet to be created, attempting to hack into Mother, which controlled everything – from restricted area doors to the protective shields around Meifu - cracked the fine border between reason and madness on the attempter's part.

Forcing the use of virtual reality as the entry gate, the system engaged the hacker in a wild sequence of mind games at a sanity-threatening speed. Exploiting fears, desires, turning strength into weakness and weakness into paralyzing traps inside their own mind, the Mother was a playground from hell. Skill was far less than enough to break through the hundred and seven traps, one point seven of them per second, no less.

But his personal favorite had always been the last one. The simplest of them all, it was the most brilliant. Exploiting every human being's primal instinct to run if sudden danger occurred, the system informed the hacker that he had failed, even if he hadn't. It left the poor fool forever wondering what had gone wrong, always watching his back in fear he would be found, successfully preventing him from ever trying again.

Watari smirked to himself as he punched in the entry codes and let himself into the main lab. He had not been wasting time in the past five years. He would miss it; the challenge, the illusion-driven games one on one with Mother, their unique hide and seek on the highest level with his pride at stake.

But the gain was no longer worth the price. He had never intended for his creations to be used in such ways as Enma had planned. And he wouldn't let him have it.

-

* * *

_**A/N**: Well, one more part to go. _) 


	5. Part Five

**

* * *

**

**Absit Omen  
**Chapter Five  
by Rhea Logan

**

* * *

**

**- **

The lab seemed abandoned, but some lights had been left on and Watari knew someone still had to be around. Carefully, he took in the interior, listening intently to any sounds that would tell him where that someone could be or who they were. Yet apart from the low humming of fans that surrounded him from all sides, he heard nothing. Wasting no more time, he made his way to the main terminal.

He had been tempted to check if his own access codes still worked, but it wasn't worth the risk. Empty as the building might have appeared, he knew the guards would be on his case in just under a minute if the alarms went off. The codes Akane had provided granted him the full access he needed.

A shadow of anger passed across his face at the sight of the name the codes had logged him in with. Hinote Katai. _Figures. _Watari stopped himself from slamming his fist into the keyboard in the last instant. So Akane had been right. Hinote knew all along. Curious when exactly his former second-in-command had taken his place, Watari called up the logs.

As he scrolled down the long list of entries, his eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. Among the log-ins he'd expected to find, there had been daily connections under his own name.

The list of current connections proved itself to be even more interesting to him. It showed one had been opened an hour ago and had yet to be terminated. One elegant eyebrow shot up as Watari checked where and who it was, a wide grin of triumph breaking on his face.

"Gotcha," he said quietly to himself, digging into his pocket for the disks he had brought with him.

He had hoped it would never come to using that. He had written the program that could sabotage five years of his own work within about three minutes merely a few weeks before the final run that got him trapped inside Mother. Some people would have called it luck; he had called it a hunch, and gave it a silent thanks for the perfect timing.

One after another, the disks vanished inside the drives. Watari's fingers flew across the keyboard as he entered the commands into the console: compile, install, execute.

That done, he switched the system to manual and locked the doors, setting them to disengage in 900 seconds. By his estimation, it should be enough. Checking the progress of the compilation on the terminal above one last time, Watari patted the side of the monitor.

"I'll miss you, but that's not what you were made to do," he said. With a few minutes left before his program would start eating its way through, he opened the reports directory and looked at the list. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he skimmed through the first few files he had found.

-

_--External methods of decreasing the system temperature appear to be insufficient--_

_--system efficiency can be increased further by 3 to 5 percent by applying internal modifications to the host's hypothalamic thermostat. Permanent modification is highly recommended-- _

_--I am reluctant to acknowledge the necessity to maintain the full functionality of the subject--_

_- _

Watari closed the file, slowly releasing the breath he had not realized he had been holding. "Reluctant to acknowledge the necessity to maintain the functionality of the _subject?" _he uttered through gritted teeth.

The words echoed in his ears with the voice of the man he had once considered a friend. He clenched his hands into fists. Drawing a slow, long breath, Watari focused until his hands ceased to tremble and his body obeyed him again. Blessing the force of habit, he opened a connection to his own computer and sent the entire reports directory to himself. Then he scheduled the system for a remote shutdown as soon as the transfer was done.

He turned and started towards the adjacent room to finish what he had come for, but a sudden thought caught him in half-step. He stopped, his eyes sweeping a careful look around the lab. He made his way to the workstations the assistants used for their work, uneasiness and worry growing by the second in the form of a lump in his throat.

A brief checkup confirmed what he had feared. Akane's station had been purged. Her records gone. Her account deleted, with no trace of anyone by that name having ever worked there.

His stomach twisted itself into a tight knot. Watari leaned against the desk, his breath heavy and quick. The lab seemed to have shrunk down to contain only him and that single computer screen, and that one line that carved itself into his mind.

No record found.

_No regrets. _

He gave his head a firm shake, forcing the bitter thoughts that threatened to shake him out of control to the back of his mind. Then he cast one more look at the operation progress the mainframe had almost finished processing by now.

Cracking his knuckles, Watari regarded the door across from him with a nasty smile. "Showtime."

Locked in the docking station, Hinote looked as though he was asleep when Watari entered the room. The very sight of the man boiled the blood in his veins. It would be so easy to just strangle him with bare hands – not that it would kill him, but the sheer satisfaction was hard to resist. Not without a hint of regret, Watari swallowed down on the violent urges to deal with Hinote that way.

Access codes in place, he put his hands on the keyboard and looked over his shoulder. "Test subject A ready to undergo the testing procedure," he said with a sharp edge to every word. "Shame you've rid us of the one worthy witness so soon," he added as he confirmed the cutting off of the terminal link.

Hinote blinked a few times to bring himself back into focus, a deep frown of confusion creasing his forehead. His eyes met Watari's as he looked around the room. At once he froze.

"What are you doing here?"

Watari ran a slender finger across the keyboard under his gloved hand. "Tying up the loose ends."

"You're not supposed to be here." Trying for a commanding tone, the man pushed up to his feet and started towards the blonde.

"Of course not." Watari let out a quiet snort. "Which is precisely why I'm here."

Hinote's face reddened with anger. "Code five," he uttered, stealing a glance at the door to his right.

"Ah," Watari sent him a wry smile. "Mother doesn't like you anymore." Keys clicked. He watched Hinote take a few more tentative steps forth. His amber eyes narrowed ever so slightly, now darkened with emotion that showed only in them.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned in a voice that sounded almost sweet. He met the questioning look in the pair of pale gray eyes and savored the fear that made them open wide.

"You see, there are times when I really, _really_ hate being right. Imagine that. This would be one of those times." Watari clicked his tongue, giving his head a slow, light shake. "And I hate seeing years of my own work go into waste. But I'll live."

"What are you talking about?" Hinote's usual impressive posture suddenly seemed somewhat smaller.

To Watari, he almost reeked of panic. "In about..." he checked his watch, "Ninety seconds, the _unofficial _part of the Mother Project will be nothing but history," he explained in a cool, informative tone.

"What?" Hinote looked at him with pure disbelief. "You can't!"

Watari raised an eyebrow. "Watch me."

"It will destabilize the entire system! The protective shields around Meifu will collapse!"

"Nothing Enma can't handle, I'm sure," Watari replied with a shrug to his shoulders.

"You don't understand. It might kill _you_."

The corners of his lips twitched in a half-hearted smile. "I wouldn't count on it. The core won't shut down but it _will_ cut off the supporting systems as soon as I'm done. By the way," Watari added after a breath, "I see you're testing for compatibility? I hope you know what sort of risk you're running."

Hinote let out a snort. "Of course."

"Good." Watari cast a brief look at his wristwatch again. "You're about to prove _or _disprove my programming genius. Congratulations. It's a great honor."

The man took another step. "What?" he hissed.

"Do you know what happens when, for instance, your terminal overheats beyond the critical point?" Watari asked in a cold, emotionless voice.

"Nothing. It's protected against that sort of thing."

"Against a failure, yes," Watari agreed with a nod. "But a direct command will override its security switch, since it is inferior. What happens then?"

Hinote's eyes grew wide. His swayed on his feet, one hand reaching out to grasp something to keep him steady, the other clutching at his head. "It will..." He started but broke off, his eyes sliding shut.

He fell to the ground, boneless, without a sound.

"Roast you alive," Watari finished for him, his voice merely a whisper.

He looked down at the fallen man. Some part of him found his own lack of remorse repulsive. Perhaps it was wrong of him to take justice in his own hands, to be the judge and the executor in one. But he knew that 'justice' had been just another word, another thing that had lost its meaning in his mind.

"Does it soothe you?"

He turned around. Enma DaiOh leaned in doorway, watching him with an almost amused look in his jet-black eyes, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Watari shrugged. "It warms me up."

Enma let out a sound suspiciously resembling a quiet snort. "You can say the same about him," he said as he moved away from his spot. He brushed a strand of black hair away from his face.

Watari pursed his lips, waving a dismissive hand towards Hinote's limp form on the floor. "It didn't kill him."

A small, enigmatic half-smile danced around the corners of Enma's lips. "You like pulling the strings, don't you?" he asked in a light, almost conversational tone.

Watari's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He watched the god turn around and leave the room without any signs of haste. With wary steps, Watari followed suit, although he made sure to keep a fair distance between Enma and himself.

"Yes, you were worth waiting for," Enma said. He looked up as the sound of alarms outside went off one by one. He seemed to ignore them, his piercing black eyes and full attention back on Watari's face.

"Such qualities none of them possess. You can still change your mind."

Watari cast a brief glance at the clock on the wall. "I'm done playing your games."

"Ah, so you are." The blonde's quick look to his left was not lost on the god. He smirked. "Now you're playing your own."

Watari tipped his head, his eyes set firmly upon Enma's face, watching his every move as he tried to read the intention behind the mask of cool, pale stone. Yet he saw nothing he hadn't seen before.

He could only guess what was happening outside. He could hear them; the voices of people scared out of the peace of their dreams. In the dark of the night Meifu stood wide open, and its ruler seemed to be making nothing of it. The piercing howls of the security alarms reached him even there, underground, away from it all.

"If you're here to stop me," he asked hesitantly, "what are you waiting for?"

"Stop you?" Enma laughed. "It would profit me little. You got your revenge. Does it make you feel good?"

_Does it? _Watari mused. _I wish. But_ _some things don't have such an easy fix._

"Was it _worth_ it?"

Enma's voice got lost in the sudden commotion as the time-locked doors flung open. Several JuuOhCho employees darted inside, running towards the terminals, trying to regain control of Mother, to understand what had happened there. Soon the lab filled with voices, shouted commands and the cascades of clicking noises of fingers typing furiously away.

Watari lost Enma from his line of sight. He shut out the noise as his world slowed down, stumbling upon the echo of the god's words. _Was it worth it? _his inner voice repeated as he strolled slowly past the desks, past the people, towards the open door. _I don't know. Time will tell._

_-_

_-The End-_

_Is it possible to escape Enma's leash without consequences? A hopeful person would say, perhaps. A realist, though, knows that even years later, when all suspicions have been put to sleep and other matters have grown to be much more important, there is no escape. So, was it worth it? To be continued in **Against the Wind**._


End file.
